


Double Reverse

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6812377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine plays guard; Midorima plays forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Reverse

If anyone had asked Midorima at the end of last season if he could pick one irreplaceable thing from that year’s team, there were several things he would have offered up—the dynamic, the seniors as a whole, Captain, their run of luck—and none of them would have been the power forwards. Kimura had been excellent, and Midorima had assumed his shoes would be hard to fill, but not impossible. Their second-best power forward, in Kimura’s year, had also been more than dependable when he’d played and Midorima had thought that they could get someone as least as good as he had been, especially with their third-place finish.

That hadn’t been the case. Power forward is now their thinnest position, and with the excess of talented guards it makes sense to convert one of them. The positions aren’t that far from each other; the responsibility and positioning is different but a talented guard ought to be able to do a better job than Shutoku’s forward corps (Kimura’s brother and Miyaji aside). And so, naturally, it has to be Midorima.

A year ago he would have outright refused; he’s not particularly happy about it now but it’s not as if he can’t drive and block and dish the ball out better than the alternatives. He’ll still get chances to shoot threes, just not as many, and as long as he keeps practicing that ability isn’t going to go away. Strengthening other aspects of his game will be better for him as well as for the team, as he keeps reminding himself.

“Chin up, Shin-chan. If your boyfriend dumps you for beating him then he wasn’t worth it anyway.”

Midorima snorts. He’s not worried about that—he’s actually been anticipating this practice match in particular (well, a little, not that much). A direct matchup with his power forward boyfriend will be interesting, and he’s certainly a worthier opponent than the new guys from Shinkyo and Seihou. This is his first real test—and he’s not nervous. He’s just cautious and well-prepared, that’s all (and he’s been studiously ignoring Takao’s remarks about how big today’s lucky houseplant is).

He doesn’t see Aomine before the game; most likely he’s running late (and Midorima’s not going to hide his annoyance because this is important and as much as he tries to play it off Aomine knows that and if he’s just going to pull a no-show like some kind of non-deterministic entity, then that’s as good as saying Midorima’s not important to him—not that Midorima’s insecure about that, mind you). Coach’s game plan is straightforward; they capitalize on their strengths (point guard and small forward), play man-to-man defense, and try to strangle Touou and make them cough up the ball. Theoretically, it should work but Midorima knows by now theories don’t always apply to Aomine.

They certainly don’t apply when Aomine’s playing point guard. One look at Coach and his teammates tells Midorima none of them knew this was coming either. Aomine, most comfortable under the hoop and throwing down dunks and pulling back offensive rebounds, is going to be starting outside and working his way in, gauging the situation from the perimeter and making his move that way? Midorima’s going to believe it when he sees it. Aomine offers him a grin and a shrug, and Midorima pulls up his glasses. This ought to be interesting.

Kimura takes the tipoff and loses to Wakamatsu; they’re off down the court and after expecting to guard Aomine, Midorima’s a little uncomfortable with the backup forward, a wiry guy somehow big enough for his feet to slap the court like a row of books toppling from a shelf with every step. Midorima tries to wall him off, keeping his eye on the ball in Aomine’s hands. He dishes to Sakurai and there’s the quick release (and Midorima wants for a second so badly to have been there, to have raised his arms and shot the damn thing down). The ball falls through the rim and they job to the other side.

Again, Midorima sets up near the hoop; the ball goes to Miyaji at the edge and back to Takao and then to today’s shooting guard; he lobs it up but Midorima knows it’s going to fall short as soon as it flies off his fingers. He’s not close enough in to grab the rebound; Kimura’s there but Wakamatsu snatches it from his fingers and dishes it out to Aomine. He lets the other players catch up to him; they’re setting up in formation and Midorima’s jostling with one of the Touou forwards and then Aomine lunges toward Sakurai in the corner. It’s a fake, though; Midorima’s only half-prepared for it and he had known it was a mistake to have someone other than Takao or himself guarding Aomine because he’s shaken his man completely and he’s coming like a steel block down one of those frictionless hills that only exist in physics problems.

Midorima bends his knees. He’s going to have to jump.

Aomine jumps first, twisting in the air to get around him but Midorima’s bigger and just fast enough to catch him, to meet the ball with his hand as Aomine attempts to fling it down to the net. It stings, but he holds his grip; he holds Aomine’s gaze. Aomine’s grinning at him and fuck if Midorima can’t help but smile back. It’s as if time is slowing down, enough for Midorima to adjust the angle of his hand and redirect the basketball to Takao on the perimeter while barely trying. His forearm is pressed to Aomine’s, Aomine’s fingers vainly scrabbling at the ball already out of his reach and his calloused fingertips scuffing Midorima’s palm instead. Midorima can barely feel himself breathe, but that’s because not even a second has elapsed. And then they fall; Midorima can barely feel the floor underneath his sneakers as he races to the other end, tearing his eyes from Aomine like wrapping paper. Midorima’s behind the play but Takao dishes it back to him without so much as a backward glance.

He makes the shot, of course.

They jog back the other way slower, Aomine beaide him, wiping the sweat from his hairline (his bangs are too long and matted like this they make him look younger).

“Looks like you’re serious,” says Aomine.

“Did you expect any less?” says Midorima.

“Nah,” says Aomine.

Midorima wants to wipe that smug smile from his face and he’d settle for stealing the ball, but Aomine swerves past him and dishes the ball to Sakurai. Sakurai passes to Wakamatsu; Miyaji tries to intercept it but the pass has enough spin on it for Miyaji to misjudge it and the pass to go through anyway and goddamn. They’d set it up already and by the time Midorima’s tangled under the hoop it’s too late.

The score wobbles back and forth like a seesaw with identical twins on either end, each of them trying to shimmy up the beam and send the other crashing down but it never quite works. Time slips away and the buzzer sounds to end the first half before Midorima feels like three minutes have gone by in the second quarter; he glances at the scoreboard for the first time even though he knows exactly what the score is. Touou’s ahead by four, a three from an open Sakurai and a stupid foul on their small forward making all the difference.

Coach tells them to keep up the pressure and then leaves to smoke a cigarette; Midorima steps into the hallway for a breath of fresh air (as fresh as it’s going to get, not quite tainted by the permanent pungency of locker-room sweat and mold and who knows what else). He gulps water from the plastic bottle, toweling off his face again.

“Yo.”

Aomine brings his hand up in a wave before dropping it around Midorima’s shoulders.

“You’re sweaty,” says Midorima.

“Good observation,” says Aomine.

If Midorima was slightly less mature, he would elbow Aomine in the stomach, but he doesn’t, inwardly congratulating himself for holding his composure.

“Come on,” says Aomine, sloppily kissing him on the cheek.

“If you’re trying to throw me off it won’t work.”

“I don’t need to do that; I’m already winning,” says Aomine. “I guess dinner’s on you?”

Yes, the bet. They’d placed it after their last one-on-one a few weeks ago (which Aomine had won), that whoever won the next matchup would buy the other dinner. And the next matchup had turned out to be this one—strictly speaking, it’s not just their matchup of course, but it’s come down to that more often than Midorima had expected considering their positions today.

“We still have a half to play,” Midorima says, pushing up his glasses.

Aomine hims, his free hand skimming down Midorima’s side and not stopping at his hip. He’s already grabbing at Midorima’s ass when Midorima attempts to kick him.

“Who’s sabotaging now?” says Aomine, dancing out of the way.

“I’m not the one feeling you up in the hallway,” says Midorima. “It’s your fault.”

He can still hear Aomine laughing as the locker room door shuts behind him. There’s no way he’s going to let Touou beat them, no way in hell. And as his eyes meet his teammates’ he can tell they all agree. The second half is going to be good.

They hang right with Touou, match every shot and every pass and every block and every free throw in the third. The problem is they’re not the ones doing it first; every time Midorima grabs a defensive rebound it somehow gets stolen or their shot bounces off the rim; every time Takao steals it back they lose possession or even if they don’t their shot is only making up for lost ground. They’re still four points ahead with three seconds left under the hoop; Miyaji fouls the Touou power forward but the ref doesn’t notice (or he doesn’t care) and the ball skitters off his fingertips. Midorima doesn’t really have enough room to throw up a shot but it’s better than trying to run it down with a second and a half. He grabs the rebound (if it’s even that) and shoots across the court.

The buzzer sound; the ball flies true. It falls through the net in silence. Now they’re a free away from tying, a field goal away from shifting the game to their favor with momentum on their side.

But all that isn’t enough. Takao’s initial shot misses; Miyaji gets the rebound muscled away; Aomine is finally settling into running the plays his way and sticking to the outside and taking longer, crisper shots (except when he really doesn’t feel like it) and it feels as if they’re all just slugs, falling behind the plays slicker than clarified butter. They still score sometimes; Midorima and Kimura each manage a few blocks and defensive rebounds but it’s not much. They fall further and further behind, and when the final buzzer sounds they’re down fifteen.

Midorima showers and changes somewhat listlessly, letting his mind wander over Aomine passing and driving and shooting, Aomine in control of the game, engaged on some intuitive level that Midorima had only thought he could do in the paint. It’s something he wouldn’t mind seeing more of (but he’d rather not be on the losing end next time).

When he exits the locker room, Aomine’s already there, slouched against the wall with that same stupid grin on his face.

“Congratulations,” says Midorima.

He actually means it, too; Touou hadn’t eked out a victory due to some technicality or ass-pull or blown call (or some combination of the three); they had outplayed Shutoku and Aomine had outplayed him. Which kind of sucks, but it’s the kind of loss he can deal with—the kind of loss that’s the most frustrating because he can’t second-guess himself like what if he’d gone to block that other person instead of guarding his man or what if he’d taken that shot instead of passing, but the kind of loss they can solve and learn from, the kind of challenge they can piece through and figure out which weaknesses need to be ironed out for next time.

“You didn’t do so bad yourself,” says Aomine.

His grin’s kind of crooked; his hands are stuffed in his pockets.

“You should play guard more often.”

The words pop out of Midorima’s mouth; sure, he’s not going to be angry and spiteful about this but he hadn’t planned on saying that.

“Only if you do it next time, too.”

“That’s not my choice.”

“Oh?” says Aomine, cocking an eyebrow.

Midorima crosses his arms.

“Come on,” says Aomine, pulling one hand out of his pocket and draping it around Midorima’s shoulder. “Besides, you owe me dinner.”

“You never specified that it would be tonight,” says Midorima.

“Winner takes all.”

“I certainly don’t remember that clause.”

“I do,” says Aomine in a singsong voice. “I definitely do. Especially if the winner is me.”

Midorima snorts.

“Anyway, I want ramen,” says Aomine. “So let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt on tumblr, very VERY late (aomido + canonverse + role reversal)


End file.
